


wanna kiss you where it hurts, pretty baby

by girljustdied



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-10-03 07:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/pseuds/girljustdied
Summary: maia and jace are keeping shit casual. casual!!





	wanna kiss you where it hurts, pretty baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firstaudrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/gifts).



> post "those of demon blood."   
> prompt was "i'll be yours tonight, but don't hold me too tight."

She doesn’t kiss his scars. Her fingertips graze over, feather light, seeking shoulders, hips, the line of his jaw—anything. A shadowhunter with the marks to show for it is a rare thing. It tells a story.

“Not my story,” he tells her, after. 

It’s what she’d been trying to avoid—the cracks in the walls. The shitty foundation. “Oh, yeah, it wasn’t you. It was another Jace.” She rises from the bed and strides naked towards the kitchen. Tosses over her shoulder, “Which last name? The first one?”

His laugh is brief, and mirthless. 

From across her small studio, she hears more than sees him stretch his limbs, twist up the sheets. The open fridge she’s standing in front of blasts cool air that struggles to cross the short distance to her overheated skin. The shelves are bare save for a bottle of soy sauce and week-old Italian takeout. A glance in his direction, and he’s turned on his side to face her.

“I like your bed,” the planes of his face shift into a performative sort of nonchalance. “I like you in your bed.”

“It’s too small for two,” she asserts, and closes the door with too much force. Focuses on her hand on the handle. Tries to breathe out the flutter in her lungs. Wishes he would leave.

“Should I assume that since we’ve already proved that patently untrue that you want me out—”

“It’s too small for two people who aren’t having sex.”

Voice rough, he says, “Come here.”

She does.

The first time had been a motion blur. From the alley to her apartment, bodies fused together, clothes catching and exhales giddy with the ill-advised nature of his hand on the nape of her neck, fingertips in her hair. Every moment a flippant choice to continue. 

Now, hand curling around her knee, thumb on a small scar on the kneecap, he asks, “What happened there?”

She leans into his touch but does not get into the bed with him, “Imaginary baseball.”

“Imaginary baseball,” he repeats. Doesn’t tug at her leg to pull her into a straddle over his lap. 

She closes her eyes and imagines.

“We didn’t have a bat or a ball, but we lived in walking distance of a little league baseball diamond. I was sliding into second base.”

“Good memory?”

“Not really,” her eyes snap open when he releases her. The skin feels cold there from lack of contact. “My brother insisted I was out.”

He sits up, both legs bending over the edge of the bed and hands pressed into the mattress at his sides, “And you weren’t?”

She scowls, “Do I need to explain the word ‘imaginary’ to you?” Then, impatient, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

A beat, gaze steady, “You.”

“Fine,” she mutters. Reaches out to grip his face with both hands, leans into his lap, and kisses him. Strands of his hair stick to her mouth as it opens against his.

He touches the folds of her cunt with the pads of his fingers, teasing. Testing. She rocks against his hand until he shifts his body underneath hers. Grasps his dick and thrusts into her with a strained groan, his other palm traveling over her hip and skidding up the length of her spine as she begins to piston above him. She keeps one foot on the floor, the other leg bent up on the bed to get as close as she can, arms slung around his neck. The muscles in her thighs strain as she tries to reach another orgasm. 

She shouldn’t have told him that story. He might not understand how much it exposed, but—

“Hey,” he murmurs into the shell of her ear, “Come back.”

“Oh, god,” she rasps out. It’s as if she'd suddenly found herself teetering at the edge of a cliff. Digs a hand into his shoulder for leverage. 

It’s not an order, it’s a plea: “Come.”

She’s already there, mouth slackened enough to let out cries of his name that she will surely regret later. 

He slings an arm under her bent knee and pulls out to twist their bodies until her back is crushed into the bed, then enters again without missing a beat. Answers her in kind, “Maia, fuck—” as his movements in and out of her grow erratic. Repeats her name again, and again, until he comes. She imagines it’s a gift to her. Mutually assured destruction. Keeps her in bed where last time she had fled.

She touches a scar in the dip between his chest and shoulder despite her best instincts. It’s a clean line, but must have been a deep wound.

“He said the scars were lessons.” Jace swallows, then elaborates, “Valentine. It never made sense to me. He used runes to heal far more than he let nature take its course. Those were lessons, too.” 

He smiles at her; it’s oddly genuine, and it’s a question.

She smiles back, “You really need to get the hell out of my bed, Shadowhunter.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice clipped, “I really do.” Grabs at scattered clothes as he climbs over her to stand, and dresses with a practiced quickness. 

There is a placating urge in her to tell him to slow down, but she refuses to yield to it. Only says, “I mean, post-sex storytelling isn’t exactly what I signed up for.”

The shape of his lips curve into more of a smirk, “Same page.”

“It was fun,” she gives.

“Very.”

  



End file.
